


Melting Frost

by OccasionalArtist



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionalArtist/pseuds/OccasionalArtist
Summary: Mollymauk wakes from a restless sleep to find Caleb is cold on watch.  Just so happens, Molly is warm.





	Melting Frost

**Author's Note:**

> So I know it was mentioned very vaguely in canon that because of his resistance to fire Molly might run much colder than normal, but we're throwing that to the winds for the general fanon that tieflings are warmer. Because it's more fun that way, and actually makes this work.

Mollymauk wakes in the dead of night with very little warning.  His heart is racing as he tries to remember what he may have dreamed of, and there is nothing.  _Empty, empty, empty_ whispers in his head.  He takes a harsh breath in to feel it expand in his lungs, and tries to blink the blur of sleep from his eyes.

“What do you see?” Yasha always used to ask when he would begin mumbling about the emptiness, or worse, go silent and still.  Then she would make him list everything before his eyes and tell her how they made him feel, until he came upon something beautiful or interesting.  She kept a fair few of the flowers he pointed out from this exercise in her book.

Tonight, the first thing Molly notices is that the moon is dark in the sky.  He suspects that is part of the source of his discomfort.  Next, he sees what is left of their fire from earlier in the evening, now burned down to nearly embers.  It casts just enough light for his eyes to pick out the silhouettes of the trees around them, and the sleeping forms of their companions.  Fjord turns over, and Beau mumbles something in her sleep.

The only person sitting is Caleb on watch, and what faint glow of the fire remains shines on his beard and hair, making them seem a deeper red than usual.  _Something beautiful and interesting_ , Molly thinks, and begins quietly moving to his feet.  Once standing, he picks his way carefully through the camp, making sure not to step on anyone’s bedroll or kick at the occasional pile of armor lying about.

Caleb looks up as Molly gets closer, and his blue eyes follow when he lowers himself to the ground.  “What are you doing awake?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Molly replies, and feels no need to elaborate.  If Caleb pries, he has a story in reserve about a dream of some magnificent adventure that’s worked him up so much he simply must be awake, complete with fantastical beasts and long-lost arcane magic and dashing lords and ladies to boot.  But Caleb isn’t Jester; he rarely pries.

True to expectations, he makes a small sound of acknowledgement, and turns his gaze back to the fire.

“How goes it out here?” Molly asks, feeling the silence scraping its sharp nails against the back of his throat.  Maybe it would have been better if Caleb had pried.

“Nothing dangerous has wandered past the string, only your typical forest creatures.”  Caleb shrugs, and then pauses for a long enough moment that Molly wonders if he is going to have to ask another question.  “It is getting cold.  I wish we had gathered more firewood.”

Molly feels almost no difference in the air, but he knows that Tieflings run warmer than humans.  He takes a look down at where his hands are resting against the ground, and can see that there is a light sheen of glittering frost.  It’s melted near the fire pit and beneath him, but otherwise it decorates the grass.  He’s always liked frost; it reminds him of the moon.

When he looks back up at Caleb though, it’s obvious that he is not enjoying the frost nearly as much.  His arms are curled around his torso and hands tucked beneath the lapels of his coat.  It’s barely perceptible, but he’s shivering.

“Well, then allow me to offer my humble services,” Molly says and gives a flourishing bow even though he is seated.  He sits up straighter and crosses his legs before him to form a seat before patting his knees.

Caleb raises an eyebrow that conveys his skepticism exceptionally.

“Look, I’m warmer than you, you’re cold, come on over here.  Then you can even call Frumpkin back from wherever he is off gallivanting to sit in your lap and be comfortable.”

Caleb murmurs something under his breath which Molly only half hears about not being sure he will be comfortable anyway, and eyes him for a second more.  But then a much more noticeable shiver shakes him, and he concedes by pushing himself to his knees and shuffling over.  

He sits in front of Molly’s folded legs rather than between them, and Molly decides this needs to be rectified immediately.  He stretches his legs out, one on either side, and wraps an arm around Caleb’s waist to pull him closer.

Caleb muffles a surprised noise behind his hand to try not to wake the others.  His back is tense where it presses against Molly’s chest, except for the tiny shakes of the cold.

“Shit, I know you’re fond of this coat, but it’s not doing anything for you,” Molly comments as he reaches his hands into the pockets where Caleb had immediately jammed his own.  He wraps his fingers around very cold ones, and hisses in sympathy before beginning to try to rub at them for friction.  “And what about some gloves, hm?  Your hot bread trick only works when we’re somewhere with a bakery.”

“I am fine, ja,” Caleb replies, and his tone has a note of defensiveness.

Molly backs off.  It’s miracle enough that Caleb hasn’t pulled away from him yet, he’s not about to test his luck.  Not when the shivers are starting to fade, and the muscles in Caleb’s back are starting to relax the smallest amount.  Instead he keeps rubbing at Caleb’s fingers until he feels them flex out some of the stiffness from the cold.

“There we are, any better?”

Caleb doesn’t say anything, but his fingers flex once more, and he shifts awkwardly here and there.  Molly isn’t sure if he’s trying to plot his escape, or just getting comfortable until he goes still again and allows the smallest amount of his weight to lean into Molly’s chest.  A few moments pass before another ounce of tension loosens from his frame.  That’s good enough.

Silence is easier for Molly to deal with when there’s another person to anchor him.  That doesn’t mean that it’s his favorite state to linger in.  Besides, he tells himself as he starts gently humming, Caleb probably appreciates a break from the crackle of the fire.  The tune is one he picked up during his time with the circus, to something Orna used to sing.  He knows he doesn’t have it perfectly right, and he doesn’t remember any of the words that went with it, but that’s alright.  He hums, and Caleb doesn’t speak.

Molly doesn’t mention it when the tremors stop, or when it feels as if he’s taken all of Caleb’s weight.  He only shifts slightly so that they are both supported better against the fallen tree trunk at his back.  He does twist his head around slightly to look though, when he’s sure that Caleb has fallen asleep on him.  Sure enough, his eyes are closed, and mouth hanging slightly open.

The firelight is not kind to Caleb’s face.  The exaggerated shadows pool beneath his eyes and in the too-thin hollows of his cheeks.  The stubble that’s been steadily growing back since Yasha last gave him a shave is darker, and the rest of him made to seem like an older man.  Although, his age has never been easy to pin down in the first place, with all the weight on his shoulders.

And yet despite appearances, when Molly risks brushing a finger across Caleb’s face to move a strand of hair that would surely tickle his nose and wake him, the pulse he just barely feels beneath Caleb’s temple is slow and calm.  It matches the motion of his breath in his chest, and Molly finds himself absorbed in the rise and fall for some time, forgetting his humming and his dreams and the darkness all together.

The longer Caleb sleeps peacefully makes Molly bold.  Bold enough to lightly press a kiss to the side of his hair.  Caleb doesn’t wake, but instead makes a small grumbling noise and turns until his head rests more comfortably in the crook of Molly’s neck.  Molly decides this means it’s safe enough to twine their fingers together in the pockets of the coat and give the lightest of squeeze. 

Molly sighs to himself and basks in lovely tightness around his heart.  Affection is a wonderful feeling.  Or something more, but he can’t say he’s had enough experience to know on the subject.  Only that he wonders if he could some time convince Caleb to share a bedroll, so he can wrap his arms and legs and tail around the man and hide him from the world for a moment.

It’s really the best sort of luck Molly can hope for that the last watch of the evening is Yasha.  She doesn’t say anything about Caleb’s new sleeping arrangement when she rouses and comes to join them by the dying fire, only raises an eyebrow.  Molly raises and eyebrow back and a smile trickles across Yasha’s face.

She sits close beside them, and then scoots the rest of the way over so that her side is pressed against Molly’s.  “Dreams?” she asks.

“None.”

Yasha’s face tightens for a moment; she knows that is far, far worse.  She leans over to press a kiss beneath his right horn, the side of him not occupied by Caleb.  “Any better?”

“Yes, much,” he replies, and tilts his head just slightly in the opposite direction, to brush against Caleb’s crown.  Yasha nods, knowing exactly what he means; their language has always contained fewer words than most.

She settles back against the log, but still close enough to remain in contact, and pulls some thread and a small hook from one of her pockets.  She’s been working on making a hat for the colder weather for the past week, and Molly is grateful.  Yasha is very good at appearing so absorbed in a project that it seems she notices nothing around her.  Molly knows better, but still it will make it simpler when he inevitably wakes Caleb before the others, to give him the option to sneak back to his own bedroll. 

But for now, he brushes his thumb across the back of Caleb’s hand, tilts his head so he can rest some of his weight against him, and picks up humming the same tune he’d left off before.


End file.
